Three's A Crowd
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: Is it possible for a heart to split in two? Apparently, yes. Yes it is.


-Three's A Crowd-

-Well, here it is! My first ever Thominewt story. You don't like that pairing, please don't read on XD This idea has been floating in my mind for a while and I finally decided to write it. This is my first time writing this kind of relationship, so don't judge me too harshly if there are any mistakes or awkwardness. I tried my best and enjoyed myself; I think you'll enjoy these characters too :)

I'd like to thank TheExiled1809 for giving me advice and urging me to write this when I was unsure of myself. Thominewt certainly is addictive. So, TheExiled1809, this one's for you :)-

It was Thursday, Thomas had a gigantic English test tomorrow, and he was desperately trying to study. But it wasn't working. He was worried about the test, yes. But he was even more worried about something else.

And that something else was his massive crush. On BOTH of his best friends.

"Don't think about them, don't think about them, don't think about them," he muttered sternly, raking his hands through his hair and turning it into a bronze mess. He bent back over his English notes, spread out across the kitchen table. He ordered himself to actually read them instead of letting them blur in front of him like he'd been doing. For the past half hour.

He was so screwed.

It was late evening by now, so he'd had plenty of time to study without distractions. His parents had even gone out for the night to have a date and give him some privacy, and he was STILL failing at studying. Propping his chin up on his hand, he glanced out the window above the sink. The sky had gone past dark orange and was now dusky purple at the edges. The first couple of stars began to appear, winking down at him mockingly. "Ms. Anderson is gonna kill me," he groaned, rubbing his temples with both hands.

In his defense, it wasn't entirely HIS fault he couldn't study. It was all THEIR fault. Newt and Minho.

Jesus, Thomas was starting to feel weak inside at the mere thought of them.

He'd fallen hard for both of his friends pretty much from the moment he met them. It wasn't like he tried to. He actually tried not to. After all, it couldn't be natural, could it? To fall for two people? It couldn't be possible for a heart to split in two like that, but it had happened, and it had happened to him. It was driving him crazy. But who wouldn't want to love Minho and Newt?

Thomas had met Newt first, probably because they were both nerds (though Thomas was definitely the bigger nerd). Newt's real name was Isaac, but if anyone dared to call him that, it bothered the crap out of him. Thomas had been completely speechless when he first met Newt. The boy was an utter angel. He had this ever-tousled, blonde hair and the most beautiful, dark blue eyes. And Thomas could not get over that delectable British accent. Newt was the kind of guy that had no problem wearing his Converse shoes and a crisp, button-down shirt to school, his entire being screaming HOT NERD. He basically took Thomas's breath away with a single smile.

As if THAT wasn't enough to keep Thomas up at night, he then had the pleasure of meeting Minho Park. The first time Thomas saw HIM, Minho was wearing too-low jeans and a T-shirt with both sleeves ripped off and all of his sides showing. A clear violation of the dress code at Glade High. Not that he cared. His jet-black hair was always carelessly spiked and he had eyes like dark mocha. He had fantastic arms, and broad shoulders, and Thomas was pretty sure there were some abs there too. Minho also had tattoos (something Thomas wasn't sure he'd like). Black flames, flowers, and snakes crawled up both arms and extended across part of his chest and back. He often boasted about a dragon on his hip that Thomas was dying to see.

So, because of these two people constantly plaguing his mind, Thomas couldn't study. He desperately wanted to push one or both crushes out of his head. It wasn't right, was what he thought. People weren't meant to love two people at once. He certainly never planned on it. Often, he caught himself forcing other guys into his thoughts, to see if he could develop a normal crush on someone else. But he always went back to Newt and Minho. Always.

"It's not like they both like you back," he mumbled to himself in the darkening house. He could hear his own sadness in his voice. "Just forget about them already." He heaved a huge sigh and dropped his head into his hands.

He was going to fail this test for sure tomorrow.

Suddenly, he was interrupted by a completely different distraction: someone knocking repeatedly on the front door. He lifted his head and blinked down the hall at the door in confusion. His parents were going out to dinner and then a late-night movie. There was no way they'd be back by now. Maybe it's Chuck again, he thought, pushing his chair back and standing up. The ten-year-old next-door neighbor loved Thomas like a brother, and came over to visit almost daily. Though why he'd be out at this hour, Thomas didn't know. Figuring he'd find out, he made his way to the door and peeked out the slender window at the side. His eyes widened. No way.

He yanked the door open and gawked at the two boys standing on the doorstep. It was as though they'd been plucked right out of his thoughts and placed here. "Newt? Minho?"

Newt managed a strained smile in return. "Hey, Thomas," he greeted, sounding stressed. Probably because he currently had Minho's arm thrown around his shoulders while he tried to hold the other boy up. He grimaced under the weight and looked at Thomas through apologetic, blue eyes. "We were just walking by and we needed some help, so I figured—"

"THAT'S RIGHT, KEEP RUNNING, ASSHOLES!" Minho suddenly shouted over his shoulder, making Newt roll his eyes. Minho looked awful, his weight fully supported by the blonde and bruises coloring his forehead and cheeks. He also sported a split lip which still oozed crimson blood. But he couldn't seem to care less as he yelled at two guys running on the sidewalk across the street. "YOU EVEN THINK OF JUMPING ME AGAIN AND I'LL SHOVE A CAR UP YOUR—!"

"Minho!" Newt scolded, cutting him off. "You're not helping!"

Minho turned back to Newt, wrinkling his nose in confusion. "Who said I was trying to help?" he asked. "You're the one who's supposed to be helping me. I think I broke something." He spared a glance at the boy staring at them in shock. "Oh, hey, Thomas."

Thomas wasn't entirely sure where his voice went, but he struggled to get it back. "Um." Oh, real great start there. "What...are you guys doing?"

Newt gestured wryly at Minho. "Minho got into a fight again," he explained flatly.

"They started it," Minho sniffed.

"Well, you didn't have to end it."

"Oh, Newt. How little you understand about the art of kicking someone's ass."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid. I'm not the one who got jumped at night."

"Whatever."

"Ughhh," Newt groaned in frustration, ignoring how Minho childishly stuck his tongue out in reply. He turned another half-smile on Thomas. "Do you mind if we come in? I gotta get him patched up." He bobbed his head at Minho. "He's getting blood all over my shirt."

"Not my fault," Minho muttered, pointedly turning his face away from Newt.

Thomas considered it for a moment. His parents wouldn't be happy that he had two friends over while they were out. Not to mention two friends that he was crazy about. But Newt was beginning to look a little desperate, his hair even more rumpled than usual and his expression pleading. And the skin that Minho's ripped-up tank top showed was speckled with red. Thomas caved. "Okay," he relented. "But my parents are out, so you gotta leave before they get back."

Newt let out a breath of relief. "Thanks, Tommy," he said, as he helped Minho hobble to the doorway. The use of the nickname made Thomas's heartbeat skip a little.

"You are a heaven-sent angel, Edison," Minho added, his sarcasm as present as ever. He flashed half of his troublemaker's smirk before it disappeared in a hiss of pain.

"Yeah, yeah," Thomas replied disbelievingly. He caught Minho's other arm to keep him from stumbling. "Just try not to die on me, okay?" He used his heel to kick the door shut behind them. Then he went back to helping carry Minho. Wincing, Minho instinctively slung his arm around Thomas's shoulders the same way he'd done to Newt. Thomas stiffened at the hard muscle pressed against his side. When he looped his arm around Minho's back, his hand brushed Newt's. He wasn't going to be able to keep his sanity tonight.

Together, Thomas and Newt managed to get Minho into the living room and over to the recliner. Minho flopped himself back into it sideways, dangling his legs over the arm and tilting his head back on the other. "AAAGGHHH," he moaned dramatically. "I'M DYING."

"You're not dying, you wimp," Newt replied, crossing his arms.

"YES I AM."

"You're being an idiot."

Thomas glanced between the two, unsure and feeling somewhat lightheaded. Finally he shyly spoke up. "I'll get an ice-pack or something," he ventured. "And there's probably bandages and stuff in the bathroom..."

"I can find that stuff," Newt offered, already heading down the hall he'd been in before; Minho and Newt had visited Thomas many times before in the past. The blonde disappeared down the hall in search of the bathroom.

Thomas forced his eyes away from both of the other boys and padded into the kitchen in his socks. As he reached the refrigerator and opened the door, he ordered himself to keep his thoughts straight tonight. He was not going to act like a lovestruck fool. He was not going to daydream about Newt's voice. He was not going to daydream about Minho's dragon tattoo. He was going to be a normal person. The blast of icy air from the fridge helped cool his skin as he stretched up to reach the ice-packs in the freezer. Choosing one, he shut the door again and walked back to the living room.

Minho was still sprawled carelessly across the recliner. He raised his head a bit when Thomas appeared. "Here," Thomas said, holding out the ice-pack. "That should help."

Minho grunted a thanks and accepted the ice-pack. Then he promptly shoved it under his shirt. "Oh my god," he sighed, dropping his head back in relief.

Thomas tried not to stare.

"Okay, I'm back." Newt's voice came from behind, snapping Thomas out of his reverie. The blonde was carrying a pack of Band-Aids and other, larger bandages in his hands. "I'm pretty sure these'll work," he said, examining a box. "He only has a couple of scratches on his cheek and one on his back, I think."

"Oh, okay." Thomas took a pack of Band-Aids from Newt. Their fingers touched as he did.

"Right, so all we have to do is..." Newt trailed off, his gaze drifting to Minho. He stared at the shape of the ice-pack under Minho's tank top. "Minho, what're you doing?"

Minho didn't stop moving the ice-pack under his shirt, shifting it to his side. "I'm hurt, what do you think I'm doing?" he asked in return.

Newt snorted a laugh. "You look ridiculous." The beginnings of a grin curved his lips up.

"YOU look ridiculous," Minho flashed back, with a rakish smile of his own. They looked at each other for a few seconds in lingering laughter, then their gazes shifted to Thomas. Something seemed to pass between them. But then Minho dropped his eyes and Newt looked away. Thomas couldn't be sure what those glances meant.

"Here, shank," Newt teased, tossing the box of Band-Aids onto Minho's lap. "Put these on your face."

Minho chucked the box back indignantly. "I can't see my own face, can I?"

"I have to put these on for you?" Newt asked, eyebrows flicking up. He fumbled to catch the box.

"Yep," Minho chirped.

Thomas looked back and forth at the two boys. Was Newt blushing? He felt his heart sink. Did Minho and Newt like each other? Figures, he thought, they're too busy with each other to notice me. "I can help with that," he offered in a small voice, as Newt began to rip open the packaging.

"Nah, I think I got it," Newt replied. He passed Thomas a sideways smile. "It's just Minho's face, after all." Then he yelped and jumped back as Minho swung a halfhearted punch at him.

"Okay." Thomas couldn't help but feel hurt. They were too cute together.

Minho twisted on the recliner so he could sit up. "You can get my back," he told Thomas, reaching back to grab his shirt.

"Oh." Thomas brightened at that, then wanted to kick himself. Then he gaped idiotically as Minho tugged his shirt over his head and let it rest on his shoulders, his arms still through the sleeves. "Oh..." Inky vines and vipers with bared fangs slithered across his shoulder blades, stopping before they reached his spine. The endless skin and ripple of muscle left Thomas searching for air.

Swallowing, he edged over to the side of the recliner so he could reach Minho's back. He could see why Minho needed some help; there was a good-sized scrape on his lower back, beading with blood. Hesitantly, Thomas unwrapped one of the bigger bandages. He fiddled with it for a moment. Newt was already placing a Band-Aid on Minho's cheekbone, beneath his eye. He'd need another for a cut on his forehead too. Thomas thought that if Newt could pull himself together and focus on Minho, then Thomas should be able to too.

Taking a steadying breath, he bent over Minho and held the bandage over the bloody scrape. After lining it up carefully, he stuck the padded part across the wound. He felt the muscles in Minho's back tense up and the other boy sucked in a breath. Thomas's hands leaped back instantly. "Sorry!"

"It's fine," Minho breathed out. Then he cracked a grin and glanced over his shoulder at Thomas. "I'm already beaten-up, Thomas. You can't do much more to make it worse."

Thomas returned a wobbly smile. "Yeah," he replied quietly, "I guess you're right."

As teasing as ever, Minho winked and Thomas nearly swooned right there.

"Turn your head back around," Newt piped up, tugging at Minho's shirt. "I gotta get that scratch on your forehead, and I can't do that if you're flirting with Thomas." There was amusement in his voice as he said, and something else, like an inside joke hid under his words.

Thomas started spluttering, his face flushed madly. Minho only laughed, obediently turning back to Newt. Newt's eyes were glimmering with lightheartedness too. He looked at Thomas then and a new softness entered his gaze. Thomas's heart melted into a puddle in his chest.

These two beautiful boys were going to be the death of him.

"All right," Newt said, as he stuck the last Band-Aid on Minho's forehead, above his right eye. "I think that's all of them. Still need that ice-pack?"

"Nah." Minho slipped the ice-pack out from his tank top. "I'm good." He braced his hands on his knees, about to stand up, but Thomas snagged the ice-pack from him.

"I can put that away," he said, already going back to the refrigerator.

"And I can take these," Newt added, gathering up the Band-Aids and boxes of bandages.

Minho pulled his shirt back on, huffing out a breath as the fabric caught on his bandages. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys," he sighed, leaning back lazily on the recliner again. Resting his head against the back, he closed his eyes.

Thomas threw the ice-pack back into the freezer. Then, embarrassed by his silly blushing, he stuck his head inside for a second in hopes of cooling off. Then he shut the door again. When he emerged back into the living room, he caught sight of Minho drowsing in the chair. "Don't get too comfortable," he warned. "I gotta kick you guys out soon, before my parents get back."

"Aw, what?" Minho complained.

"Sorry." Thomas shrugged apologetically.

"What're you saying sorry for?" Newt asked, entering the living room again after putting away the Band-Aids. He glanced at the two boys curiously, fingering the hem of his red-and-black shirt.

"I was telling Min that you guys have to leave pretty soon," Thomas explained before crossing the room and throwing himself down on the couch. As soon as his back hit the cushions, he felt a wave of tiredness. It had been a long night and he still hadn't studied. He knew he wasn't about to stay up late trying to study either. Screw Ms. Anderson. He honestly didn't care much about English anymore. Letting out a long breath, he closed his eyes. He heard the shift of Minho getting up off of the recliner and something that sounded like Newt's footsteps on the carpet.

"Well, thanks for fixing me up," Minho said awkwardly.

"Yeah, thanks, Tommy," Newt put in.

Thomas thought that there was something strange in their tones, but he had to be imagining it. He didn't open his eyes. "No problem," he said groggily. "Don't worry about it." He rested there for a few moments more, content to just lay there.

At first, nothing happened. Thomas could hear the clock ticking away on the wall and the footsteps of his two friends. He assumed that they were leaving. He tried to push away the sadness that fell over him. But then the footsteps traveled closer and the couch dipped under someone else's weight. Thomas froze when he felt breath tickle his face and then two pairs of soft lips touched both of his cheeks. His eyes shot open instantly. He came face to face with Minho and Newt, sitting on either side of him and wearing equally nervous expressions.

"I—what—what was THAT?" Thomas demanded, startled and in disbelief. He knew his face was burning hotly by now. He could feel the ghost of their lips on his skin. "D—did you guys both just KISS me?"

Newt had the decency to look sheepish, a light shade of pink in his cheeks. But Minho had gotten over his nerves and an air of smugness appeared on his face. "Maybe," he answered loftily. "Why? Did you enjoy it?"

"Shut up, Min," Newt deadpanned, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. "You're just gonna freak him out." Then he shrugged at Thomas. "And yeah, we, um, we kinda did kiss you."

Thomas gaped at both of them, not quite believing what was happening. "Wait, wait, wait," he stammered, holding up both hands. "Don't...don't you guys like each other?"

Minho and Newt exchanged a glance. Newt had to look away when Minho grinned devilishly at him. "Yeah," Newt answered, scrubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "We do."

Thomas's mind reeled. "And you BOTH like...me?" he asked tentatively. He was nearly afraid to ask.

Minho's grin stayed in place, but he had fixed his gaze on his shoes. Newt had the most adorable, coy curve to his lips. Both of them nodded.

Thomas didn't know what to say then. It was impossible. They both liked each other...and they both liked him. His two most important people in the world cared about him in the same way. The happy giddiness of it lit up his heart, but he felt guilty and shoved it away. How could he be happy about this? How could anything about this be right? He shook his head, no longer having the courage to look his friends in the eye. "This is..." He pushed a hand into his hair, ruffling it. "...wrong."

Minho's grin vanished. "What?" he asked sharply.

"Minho," Newt warned. "He has a point. It is kinda wrong." He glanced at Thomas sympathetically.

"Yeah, but only because everyone else thinks it is," Minho scoffed from Thomas's other side.

"That's what makes everything wrong, Minho," Newt pointed out.

"Whatever. It's stupid."

"Well, no matter what you think, we're not going to force this on Thomas if he doesn't want us," Newt told him firmly. He nodded once at Thomas in an I-got-your-back kind of way. But he was unable to keep the disappointment out of his expression, the obvious yearning he felt toward his best friends.

Thomas wanted to stay adamant about this, but it was so hard to with Newt's dejected, angelic face in front of him. He gathered up some of his bravery again. "Maybe," he began shyly, "we can..."

And that was when Minho had had enough. "I'm not taking 'maybe' for an answer," he stated, and he grabbed Thomas's chin and forced their mouths together.

Thomas would've pushed him away, but he was so shocked that he couldn't seem to move. His brain could not process the fact that Minho Park was kissing him. Minho's fingers were insistent where they dug into Thomas's jaw, his lips hard where they met Thomas's. He was pressing these teasing kisses to Thomas's lips, trying to coax him into kissing back. When he finally drew his tongue along Thomas's lower lip, Thomas whimpered and complied. It was hot, and deep, and reckless, and everything Minho should be when he kissed. Thomas was caught up in it, dizzy and free-falling, before he remembered that Newt was there.

"Wait," he gasped out, breaking away from Minho. He took shaky breaths and ordered his racing heart to calm. "Wait."

"Minho!" Newt snapped indignantly. "What was that?! I told you not to force this on him!"

"Couldn't help it," Minho replied uncaringly. He was delightfully breathless; smirking sexily, he wiped at his split lip with his thumb. "He's a good kisser. We look hot?"

"Shut up," Newt muttered, turning fifty shades of red.

Minho let out a burst of smug laughter, enjoying himself. He was such a damn tease.

"You guys are crazy!" Thomas told them, working himself up to talk again. "What the shuck is going on here? Do you know how wrong this is?" The good mood faded and both Newt and Minho looked at him with matching, blank expressions. Thomas went on hurriedly. "I can't do this. Do you know how many times I—I dreamed about this? I know it's not right, and I can't help it, and it scares me. And now you two show up and you look so damn gorgeous because you always do, and God, I can't...I want this, but I shouldn't..." he trailed off. Because now Newt and Minho were looking at him a little differently. Like they were thinking of doing something sly and he was about to be the victim. He shrank back against the couch warily. "What?"

With nothing more than a shared glance, Newt and Minho pounced on him. Thomas yelped, then halfheartedly struggled, and then he was freaking giggling. Because Newt was tracing these little butterfly kisses up his neck and fingering the hem of his shirt; and Minho was nipping at the curve of his ear and whispering nonsense things in his husky voice. Thomas wasn't sure of his own body anymore. He had a hand knotted in the front of Minho's shirt and the other twining in Newt's velvety hair. He was welcoming the kisses now, the touches, the soft praises. In that moment, fear and guilt were forgotten things. Other people were forgotten things. There was only Newt, and there was only Minho, and there was only Thomas. There was only THEM.

Thomas laughed again when Newt smiled against his jaw. And then Minho started licking at his earlobe and he wasn't laughing anymore. He felt Newt's hand slip past the hem of his shirt and snake up under it. Thomas gasped, his back arching into Newt's palm. It slid up his stomach, and stopped on his chest, bunching his shirt up. Newt's breath huffed in his ear at the sight. What're we doing? Thomas thought drunkenly. He weakly tried to turn his head away, but Minho was there, nosing into the curve of Thomas's neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, hot on Thomas's skin. Thomas's head fell back, a mewl trapped somewhere in his ribcage. "Tommy," Newt murmured into his ear, fingers playing over Thomas's chest. Minho yanked Thomas's shirt off his shoulder and growled against the skin he found there.

Thomas was drowning and he didn't think he'd ever be able to breathe again. Minho scraped his teeth along Thomas's shoulder, his hand falling to Thomas's thigh over his jeans. He kissed the bit of collarbone he could reach and closed his eyes. "I've wanted this since I met you," he mumbled, and Thomas knew he wasn't just talking to him. He was talking to Newt too.

Seeing Minho so unhinged was really all it took to wash Thomas's fears away for good. He grabbed the front of Newt's shirt with one hand and kissed him desperately. Newt squeaked in surprise, but when Thomas nipped at his lips, he melted. Grasping the back of Thomas's neck with his free hand, Newt angled his head and kissed back. Dizzying shocks of pleasure ran through Thomas's body. Newt tasted like summer, like honey and sugar. He was shameless, despite himself, climbing half-onto Thomas's lap to push closer. Thomas could still feel Minho's mouth on his shoulder the whole time and it was taking him to the breaking point.

When he and Newt parted for air, Thomas stared dazedly at the blonde in his lap, then at Minho. "I..."

"No talking," Minho ordered. "More of this." He leaned across Thomas, deliberately placing his hands on both of his thighs, and crushed his mouth onto Newt's. He kissed languidly, running his tongue over Newt's teeth, and only stopping when Newt had moaned into his mouth. They broke apart, panting and tangled up on top of Thomas. Thomas couldn't think of the last time he'd been so turned on.

"C'mere," he managed, one hand at the back of Newt's neck and curling the other into Minho's shirt. He sighed blissfully when Newt kissed him again, the blonde's fingertips marking a path down the center of his chest. Thomas daringly licked past Newt's lips to deepen the kiss, making Newt whine at the taste. Thomas grinned against Newt's mouth, and earned himself equal sounds of pleasure from Newt and Minho.

It was really obvious that Minho found it hot to watch them make out; he clung to Thomas's and Newt's shoulders, and pressed his thigh flush against Thomas's. The heat made it clear what he wanted and, without breaking his kiss with Newt, Thomas arched his hips up. Minho twisted so that he could roll his hips onto Thomas's thigh. Thomas mewled, "Min," into Newt's lips. The blonde broke away to let Thomas breathe, instead ducking his mouth to Thomas's neck with a satisfied whimper.

Thomas had never had a guy kissing his neck while another guy was grinding on his lap, and if that didn't make him see stars, he didn't know what would. He slid his hand up the back of Newt's shirt, listening to Newt's breath fanning against his neck in a pleasured exhale. Minho rubbed their bodies together again in a heated, desperate mess, and groaned against Thomas's shoulder. They were obscene, and dirty, and sexy, and it felt so hellishly good. Thomas would never run from this again.

"I love you," he murmured, close enough for both Newt and Minho to hear him, close enough for both of them to sigh at his words.

He didn't know how far they would've gone. Personally, Thomas knew he might never have stopped. But suddenly, there was the heartbreaking sound of a key clicking in the lock of the front door. The three froze. Thomas's parents were home.

I really hate them sometimes, Thomas thought. Then he started panicking. "Get off!" he hissed, trying to stay quiet. He pushed gently at Minho's shoulder and Newt slid reluctantly off of his lap. "If they see me like this, they'll kill me." Thomas frantically tugged his shirt back down and fought the crimson in his cheeks.

"Uh, Tommy?" Newt hesitantly pointed at Thomas's waist.

"What?" Thomas glanced down and yelped when he saw that his jeans were unzipped. "Minho!" he scolded in a fierce whisper, glaring as he buttoned his jeans again.

Minho shrugged innocently. "Wasn't me," he said, eyes wide in mock sincerity. Then some slyness entered his smile and he pointed at Newt. "I'd blame the sexy little blonde over there..."

"Min, I know it was you," Thomas shot back. Newt beamed like a moron under Minho's compliment and Thomas frowned at him too. "Don't encourage him."

"I'm not encouraging anybody," Newt protested.

"Yeah, right."

Minho snickered. "We're freakin' adorable."

"Shut up, Minho," Newt and Thomas both deadpanned.

The door was opening, squeaking on its hinges. Footsteps clacked on the hardwood floor and there was the murmur of voices. When the door shut again, Mrs. Edison's voice called into the house, "Thomas, honey? We're home!" They were heading down the short hallway that would take them to the living room.

Thomas was riddled with nervousness. Minho and Newt hurriedly leaned in. Minho kissed the corner of Thomas's mouth and Newt whispered, "I love you," in a voice shaky with emotion.

Minho had just enough time to grin dazzlingly. "I love you, too, shank," he murmured playfully, then nosed at Thomas's hair. "I love you both."

"Move over, you sappy—" Thomas broke off as his friends—no, boyfriends—scooted away from him. His parents had appeared.

Mrs. Edison, fluffing her dark brown curls, regarded the boys in surprise. "Newt?" she said, eyes widening. Her gaze shifted to the other boy beside her son. "And Minho? What're you two doing here so late?"

Mr. Edison smoothed his short, fawn-colored hair. "Thomas wasn't allowed to have anyone over while we were gone," he told them disapprovingly.

"I know," Thomas replied, swallowing. If only they knew what had happened two minute ago in this living room. "We were, um..."

"Minho got hurt," Newt jumped in quickly.

Mrs. Edison blinked at the Band-Aids on Minho's forehead and cheek. "Oh my," she exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Minho answered politely. "But I needed some help. I ran into Newt, but we were closer to Thomas's house."

"I'm sorry we came in like this," Newt added. He gave a beautiful, convincing smile. "We didn't know where else to go."

Mr. Edison still seemed ruffled, but his wife relented. "Well, I suppose I can't punish Thomas for helping his friends," she decided. Warmth lit her voice. "You've always been very close. But you two better head home now, before your parents worry. I wouldn't want that crisis on my hands."

"Thanks, Mrs. Edison," Newt replied. He was a natural at this. Parents loved him. He and Minho stood up together, and edged toward the hallway. They both glanced back at Thomas over their shoulders.

Thomas thought fast. "I'll show you guys out." Before his parents could object, he hurried past them and joined Newt and Minho. He walked between them as they turned down the hall and away from watchful eyes. His blood buzzed inside of him. He wasn't ever going to be able to say no to these two again. Minho let their arms brush as they neared the front door and Newt slung his finger in Thomas's belt loop. Thomas had the terrible want to be between them, in bed, in a hot mess of skin.

He swung open the door and stepped out onto the doorstep with them. The night air was chilly and pricked his skin. He closed the door to a crack behind him and then hugged himself in the cold. "Well...I guess I'll see you guys later," he ventured.

"You'll definitely see us again," Minho corrected with a snarky smirk.

"For once, he's right," Newt put in, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Thomas smiled. "Thanks for coming over, and, um." He stopped, all shyness, shifting his feet.

Luckily, he didn't have to finish. Minho was drawing closer, opening his arms to Newt and Thomas, pulling them close. They huddled in the chill and the dark, arms wrapped around each other. The stars were burning white above them. Their breath mixed between them. Thomas never ever wanted to leave.

"I won't let anyone take this from us," Newt mumbled into the crook of Minho's neck.

"Never," Minho agreed, shaking his head.

Thomas shivered. "But if someone finds out—"

"Let them find out," Newt cut him off surprisingly. His blue eyes flared. "I won't hide it. I'm in love with both of you, and if that's wrong, then fine. I'd rather have you than give in to what other people think."

Minho chuckled. "You're cute when you're mad."

Newt and Thomas looked at him, and then at each other. "All in favor of making Minho pay for his sarcasm later, say aye," Newt announced. He and Thomas both declared, "aye." Then they turned truly devilish grins on Minho.

"Hey, you guys can plan whatever revenge you want," Minho said lightly. He reeled his boyfriends in closer, Newt purring against his warmth and Thomas closing his eyes in bliss. "I'm looking forward to it."

Thomas nuzzled into Minho's neck and his nose brushed Newt's as the blonde did the same. Three's a crowd, huh? Thomas thought, the old saying rising in his mind. He cuddled closer to his boyfriends. That saying couldn't have been more wrong.

Safe in the arms of the two boys he loved most, Thomas smiled.


End file.
